Redemption
by Alilacia
Summary: The desire for redemption is a path often walked more than once within a life time. And with many different people by your side.


**Redemption**

**By:** Alilacia

**Rating:** G

**Spoilers:** Some for the movie.

**Beta reader: **None

**Disclaimer: **

Balian, Sibylla and Godfrey (well, sort of) all belong to history. The rest movie-wise belongs to Ridley Scott et all. I am not profiting from this by any means and was written purely for enjoyment purposes.

**Note: As I have explained further down, I have created the cross again because I loved it in the movie. I do know that Balian placed the cross in the dirt in Jerusalem (god, I loved that scene) but I do not know if he would have either created or bought another. **

**This was also written quicklyand without a true knowledge of the history (beyond that which was revealled in the movie - and some things I have since learned from other authors) so any historical and gramatical errors are my own.**

**Also, the few (one, I think) quotes that I have placed in here from the movie are from memory and may not be entirely correct.**

**Summary:**

The desire for redemption is a path often walked more than once within a life time. And with many different people by your side.

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**Redemption**

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Balian jerked awake with a gasp. His head fell forwards and the damp strands hid his face from the world.

One shaking hand pulled the hair back roughly while the other reached for the chalice of water he knew was there.

He took several gulping drinks before placing it back down. The sweat trailing down his back chilled his skin, aided by the cooling pre-dawn air. The blacksmith fell back against the bed, wishing for something to hold, something to wrap around and cherish.

Rolling over, Balian used a small piece of flint to light the candle next to the bed. The warmth, although small, was welcome and Balian shuffled closer to the light.

The light from the flame danced in the reflective surface of the cross sitting on the wooden surface. For a moment Balian was mesmerized. The cross held his attention long enough for a flicker of guilt to settle. He closed his eyes briefly as his fingers wrapped themselves around the cross.

He hadn't worn it for so long and had been unwilling to in front of Sibylla. If it was going to admit it to himself, his heart was torn. Torn between the foreign queen who professed to love him and the elusive shadow of his late wife.

_I spoke the truth my love, that day on the hill. Love can shelter you from a great many things but is my faith, and the forgiveness I sought, strong enough to protect you from hell? Will I be able to weather the storm and hold you in my heart where you are safe?_

But Balian did not know if she was safe. Although he had travelled to the holy land to redeem their actions, in doing so he had committed a crime he swore he would never do.

For a single moment he had not thought of his wife. For one night his thoughts had been consumed by the woman, the _queen_, in his arms. He could not deny that he had enjoyed it, after all he was only human, but to go as far as to say he now loved her...

_Would it be so terrible, to marry Sibylla?_

In the eyes of his wife, his dearest wife, yes it would. But would it have been in the eyes of the people? Could he have prevented the war, all the killing, if he had only obeyed the order of the king and married his sister?

_Would I still have all those who guided me along this dark road under the light of God?_

Balian's thoughts turned to his father. Godfrey of Ibelin, a man who had committed many sins that he regretted. Save one.

_Would I have been able to save him? Would I have wanted to?_

"What if I had never left my home? What if I had left the holy city in the hands of God?"

He rose to his feet, pulling open the thin drapes in a swift movement. Dawn was swiftly approaching and the chill was slowly being chased away. Soon the sun would rise, be blanketed by the clouds, and the snows would fall again.

As the light reach across the sky, Balian wrapped a thick robe around his shoulders, over his arms, and felt it settle around his feet. This was more suited for the cold nights of the desert than the chill of the mornings here where there was no sand and you felt no closer to God than you did to the sky. To the heavens.

Balian reached for the candle still burning brightly on the table and headed outside.

The robe was tugged aside with the slight breeze and his hair was whipped into his face. But he did not make an attempt to hold them back. Not when the sun finally crested the horizon and its light shone down on something in the distance.

This cross did not shine as brightly as the one he had seen in the scorching desert sands. This one was as cold as the snow that fell softly around him and symbolized all he had lost. Balian looked down at the cross still clasped in his hand. _And perhaps, all I have gained._ He set the candle down on the wall and once again placed the cross around his neck. This was a new one, a replica to the one he hoped still rested on that sacred hill under the mound of stone. But he still did not know what this cross now meant to him. A reminder once again of the beautiful woman he had married or a sign of a life he could be having with the lovely woman who was pulled away from her home.

They were both wanderers, he realised, both without a home. His reason for staying, for a home; as his father had said; was lying buried under that road. His new reason was grieving for the family she had lost and the grievances she had committed.

His eyes followed the figure of a woman as she left the house, far more warmly dressed than he. She stopped in front of him and the thick fur lining her cloak almost hid her shorn hair from his view. Sibylla bowed her head and nodded. She turned and headed towards the stables, not before turning her head back and looking over at Balian. As she turned the corner away from his sight he turned as well and entered the house.

Balian entered his room, made the bed, and then looked for something warmer to wear. Lately, the snows had been getting worse and Balian wondered for the trade that helped sustain their living. They had enough to last for a while but once the frost truly set in they would have to rely on those brave enough to venture out into the storms. That was the one thing Balian missed about Ibelin. Drought he could fight against by finding water, but there was nothing he could do if the cold tightened its hold and destroyed the crops.

He pulled the tunic tighter around his form as he crossed over to the window and watched Sibylla ride away. He did not know where it was she went and he would never restrict her actions in that way by stopping her. But perhaps tomorrow he would ride out with her. Perhaps tomorrow he would show her the cross lying on that distant hill.

Outside where the candle lay forgotten, the flame flickered in the increasing wind and cold, before spluttering and then dying entirely.

**The end.**


End file.
